Broken: A 30th Street Fiction Anthology

By Richard M. Hamp, Kate Jonuska, J.v.L. Bell and 4 more

30th Street Fiction returns with their third anthology of short stories, this time focused on the theme of broken — a fitting topic since the collection was created during the pandemic of 2020-2021, which shattered normalcy the world over.  Working in fantasy, romance, science fiction, mystery and historical fiction, our writers created a diverse set of stories that tackle the theme of broken from every angle and are sure to please any reader. 

 

"Broken: A 30th Street Fiction Anthology" follows "Proof: A 30th Street Fiction Anthology" (2017) and "Flight: A 30th Street Fiction Anthology" (2019).

• Language: English
• Publisher: 30th Street Press
• Release date: Nov 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781734266078

Book preview

Broken

A 30th Street Fiction Anthology

Stories by Kate Jonuska, Richard M. Hamp,

Jessica Lavé, J.v.L. Bell, Caitlin Berve, Lezly Harrison, and Ian K. Long

Edited by J.v.L. Bell, Richard M. Hamp, and Jessica Lavé

Introduction by Evan McCalmon

30th Street Press

Boulder

Copyright © 2021 by Kate Jonuska, Richard M. Hamp, Jessica Lavé, J.v.L. Bell, Caitlin Berve, Lezly Harrison, Ian K. Long, and Evan McCalmon

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by US copyright law. For permission requests, contact:

30th Street Press at [e-mail]

30thstreetpress.com

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Edited by: J.v.L. Bell, Richard M. Hamp, and Jessica Lavé

Cover design: Kate Jonuska

Interior design: Lezly Harrison and Juliana Rew

Back cover photo: Courtesy of 30th Street Fiction

Printed in the United States of America

Broken: A 30th Street Fiction Anthology / Kate Jonuska, Richard M. Hamp, Jessica Lavé, J.v.L. Bell, Caitlin Berve, Lezly Harrison, Ian K. Long, Evan McCalmon

ISBN 978-1-7342660-7-8

Fiction—Historical Fiction—Speculative Fiction. 2. Mainstream Fiction. 3. Fantasy and Science Fiction.

First Edition Printing

Contents

Introduction by Evan McCalmon

Breaking Even by Kate Jonuska

Trash Magic by Richard M. Hamp

Rusty by Jessica Lavé

The Broken Toe by J.v.L. Bell

Fractured Dreams by Caitlin Berve

We Fix It by Lezly Harrison

Rift by Ian K. Long

About the Authors of 30th Street Fiction

About 30th Street Fiction

Introduction

Toe bones, tongues, a wizard's staff, hearts, brains, waves, rocket cars, old keys in old locks, champagne flutes — all sorts of things break. Almost any story contains within it a breaking point, a fissure, where a somewhat normal course of events in a narrative turn towards the extraordinary. This break is the structural event of most compelling stories, the fracture that sets a character and the reader on a divergent path away from the routine and into the vivid world crafted by the storyteller. And so it is in this latest collection of short stories, Broken, from the folks at 30th Street Fiction.

Through our lived experiences, we find that in the aftermath of breaking anything, be it physical or psychological, we are faced with a choice. We must either leave the broken thing as it is, to let it lay around as wreckage — a bum shoulder, a bad memory that perhaps over time will scar, or be excised and discarded. Or, there will be an attempt to restore the broken thing to some functional state. If you choose the latter, the trial is then the effort to salvage the shattered pieces and super glue them back together. In order to get back to some semblance of the original unbroken thing, you must put in the work.

Working in counter to this restoration of breakage is the freedom of breaking from the thing that grips you — rules, fevers, banks, jails. In the realization that breaking away from something may reintroduce that old sense of vulnerability, we might find ourselves asking the question: is it safer to stay broken? We might weigh the risk and reward, of course, that once a broken person or thing is repaired to a facsimile of its original state, there's a chance that it may be broken again.

I think you'll find all of these thematic elements and more in the stories that follow. This collection — shattered as it is — leaps genres, nimbly moves from horror to the absurd and mixes magical fantasy, romance, and realism. The writers of this collection are generous; their stories are gritty, sad, hilarious, romantic, filled with justice, and redemption. Read on and enjoy each story as I did, and remember the words of Ernest Hemingway, The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.

- Evan McCalmon

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Back to Contents

Breaking Even

Kate Jonuska

Caelian never dreamed of being an entrepreneur. Though his family now lived in a different country than their ancestors, he came from a long, proud line of glassworkers, and Caelian had wanted nothing more than to shape raw materials into delicate, beautiful objects every day and every moment of his life. His young face had lit up and his destiny kindled the very first time he saw a forge, a boy at his father's knee, wearing his father's too-large face shield. Year by year, he'd learned their family's ancient, inherited techniques — almost as old as the powers of fire, earth, water, and air themselves, which even in the 21st Century, all glassmakers aimed to master. Caelian had easily, confidently devoted his life to that mastery.

For many years, father and son worked together in a modest shop that sold only the finest quality glasses and goblets, decanters and vases, bowls, platters, and figurines of all shapes and sizes. Transparent and sparkling clean, the finished objects upon the shelves glittered in the sunlight of the front window near the store entrance, where a bell jingled to signal customers' entry.

Gradually over the years, the door opened and therefore the bell jingled less. Watching through the front window from open to close, his father observed that the people passing on the street were increasingly harried, hurried, and stressed. Devices pressed to their ears, they scurried past in one direction each morning carrying to-go coffee and pastry, then scurried back at the end of the day clutching fast-food bags for dinner.

And they eat that food on paper plates. I know this, his father said, wagging his finger in judgment. Even in their homes, they cannot slow down for a real meal. They have forgotten how to eat. They have forgotten how to live.

Though she loved his father as much as Caelian did, his younger cousin would lock her mischievous eyes with Caelian, and they'd wag their own fingers in imitation behind his back. Both believed that the glass had been made for centuries, had sold for centuries, and would certainly sell again. They knew this.

Or, at least, Caelian had always assumed continued success was assured, ignoring the business side of work. In the family residence, he'd always angled to spend most his time in the forge across the alley rather than in the shop talking to customers or relaxing in their living quarters above. He forever smelled of sweat and fire and minerals, and he could get lost for hours in the artisan rhythms and techniques, honed into their ideal forms. The moment one hand set a piece to cool and cure, his other hand reached for rods to fire another.

As the son worked away at his happy destiny, however, the bell rang even less. Caelian's father fretted ever more about the growing numbers of paper-plate people, those who did not need twelve place settings or ornate candelabras as they once did. Customers claimed to already have champagne flutes, which they displayed in glass-fronted cabinets rather than used.

They have no friends with whom to break bread? Nothing to celebrate? Even couples who buy two glasses to smash at their wedding, they will drink from plastic at home every day after, his father would often say to the empty shop, crowded only with inventory, then suck at his teeth in disbelief. They think they are too good for us.

By then, Caelian's cousin had become concerned with the continued downward trajectory of the store's finances, and her mischievous glances had grown worried. Sometimes during the old man's diatribes, she spoke up to disagree, saying, "No. I think they believe we are too good for them."

Caelian saw her point and shared the sadness evident in her voice. A person who found a glass too fancy to handle valued the life of the glass over their own life's experiences. Day after day, most people proved they valued their own lives very little, and so sale signs proliferated outside, offering percentages off and holiday discounts, each deal pasted atop the last and cutting further into profits. The permanent signs inside the store stating, You break it, you buy it, seemed to Caelian increasingly desperate: Please break something so you'll have to buy something.

By the time of his father's death, the shop overflowed with unsold goods and was underwater in bills. After the funeral, Caelian stayed in clean clothes and away from the forge for months taking care of business. His cousin presented various plans to save the store, and he could muster no opinions about her ideas. They shifted inventory and debts and expectations and the rhythms of their lives until nothing more could be juggled. They sold the shop space first, gaining another month from their landlord to vacate their living quarters and forge, now surrounded by cold and useless tools. The artisan family now had only two survivors, seeming shipwrecked in the modern world, unable to turn glass into nourishment for the first time in centuries.

A truck delivered an empty shipping container to load up the shop's inventory. They packed all those glasses and goblets, decanters and vases, the bowls, platters and figurines of all shapes and sizes, each one crafted with love, and hid all that elegant glass in brown boxes, much like the paper-plate people boxed them up in cabinets.

Dazed and depressed, Caelian wheeled the first set of boxes to the massive storage container and paused at its entrance. He ripped the tape from one box, removed a single wine glass and held it up to sun. The beautiful object still existed, at least for now, at least for a little longer. But if beautiful objects were deemed too valuable to use, he thought, they actually had no value at all, worshipped into obscurity. Most importantly, an object worshipped or unbought never needed to be replaced. A world that needed no glass had no need for a glassmaker — and his family's glassmaking craft would die out forever.

Before his mind has a chance to understand why, his arm had hurled the delicate wine glass into the cave of the storage container. Only a millimeter thin, the glass caught sparks of direct sunlight as it flew, then broke into shards against the metal wall with